 Day 10, The Eighth Story of the Decameron, Part B. But for that discourse of the secret providence and purposes of the gods seems to many a matter hard and scarce to be understood. I am willing to assume that the meddle in no wise with our concerns and to descend to the region of human counsels. In speaking whereof, I must need do two things quite at variance with my want. To wit, in some degree, praise myself in censure or vilify another. But as in either case, I mean not to deviate from the truth, and is what the occasion demands. I shall not fail to do so. With bitter upbradings, animated, rather by rage than by reason, you cease not to murmur, nay to cry out against guzipis, and to harass him with your abuse, and hold him condemned, for that her whom you saw fit to give him, he has sinned fit to give me to wife. Whereim, I deem him worthy of the highest commendation, and that for two reasons. First, because he has done the office of a friend, and secondly, because he has done more wisely than you did. After what sort the sacred laws of friendship prescribed that friend shall entreat friend, it is not my present purpose to declare. To suffice to remind you that the tie of friendship should be more binding than that of blood or kinship, seeing that our friends are of our own choosing, whereas our kinsfolk are appointed us by fortune. Wherefore, if my life was more to guzipis than your good will, since I am, as I hold myself, his friend, can any wonder there at. But pass me to my second reason, in the exposition whereof I must needs with yet more cogency prove you that he has been wiser than you, seeing that me thinks you are not of the providence of the gods, and still less of the consequences of friendship. I say then, that as towards your premeditated and deliberate choice that gave suffronia to this young philosopher guzipis, so towards his that gave her to another young philosopher, towards your counsel that gave her to an Athenian, towards his that gave her to a Roman, towards your counsel that gave her to a man of gentle birth, towards his that gave her to one of birth yet gentler, wealthy was he to whom your counsel gave her, most wealthy he to whom his counsel gave her, not only dead he to whom your counsel gave her, love her not, but his cars knew her, whereas, towards the one that loved her beyond all other blessings, nay, more dearly than his own life, that his counsel gave her, and to the end that it may appear more plainly that, as even as I say, and guzipis counsel more to be commanded than yours, let us examine it point by point, that I, like guzipis, am young and a philosopher, my countenance and my pursuits may, without making more words about the matter, sufficiently attest. We are also of the same age, and have ever kept pace together in our studies. Now true it is that he is an Athenian, and I am a Roman, but as touching the comparative glory of the cities, should the matter be mooted, I say that I have of a free city, and he of a city tributary, that I am of a city that is mistress of all the world, and he of one that is subject to mine, that I am of a city that flourishes mightily in arms, in empire, and in arts, whereas he cannot boast his city as famous, save in arts. Moreover, I'll bet you see me here in the guise of a most humble scholar, I am not born of the drags of the populace of Rome. My halls and the public places of Rome are full of the antique effigies of my forefathers, and the annals of Rome abound with the records of triumphs led by the Quintii to the Roman capital, and so far from age having withered it, today, yet more abundantly than ever of yore, flourishes the glory of our name. Of my wealth I forbear for shame to speak, being mindful that honest poverty is time honored and the richest inheritance of the noble citizens of Rome, but allowing for the nonce the opinion of the vulgar, which holds poverty in disrepute, and highly appraises wealth, I, I'll bet I never sought it, yet, as the favored of fortune, have abundant story thereof. Now well I want that Gisippus, being of your own city, you justly prized and prized an alliance with him, but not a width less should you prize an alliance with me at Rome, considering that there you will have in me an excellent host, and a patron apt, zealous and potent, to serve you as well in matters of public interest, as in your private concerns. Who then, dismissing all bias from his mind, and judging with impartial reason, would deem your council more commendable than that of Gisippus? Assuredly none, so Thronia then, being married to Titus Quintius Volvis, a citizen of Rome, of an ancient and illustrious house, and wealthy, and a friend of Gisippus, whoso takes umbridge of offence thereat, does that which it behoves him not to do, and knows not what he does. Perchance, some will say, that their complaint is not that Thronia is the wife of Titus, but that she became his wife after such a sort to wit privately, by theft, neither friend nor any of her kin witting ought to be his dear of. But herein is no matter of marvel, no prodigy as yet unheard of. I need not instance those who before now have taken to them husbands in defiance of their father's will, or have eloped with their lovers, and been their mistresses before they were their wives, or of whose marriages no word has been spoken, until their pregnancy, published them to the world, and necessity sanctioned de-fact. Not of this has happened in the case of Thronia. On the contrary, it was in proper form, and in meat, and seemly sort, that Gisippus gave her to Titus, and others, per adventure, will say, that was by one to whom such office belonged not, that she was bestowed in marriage. Nay, but this is but vain, and womanish carelessness, and comes of scant consideration. No we not, then, that fortune varies according to circumstances, her methods, and her means of disposing events to their predetermined ends. What matter it is to me, if it be a cobbler, rather than a philosopher, that fortune has ordained to compass something for me, whether privately or overtly. So only the result is as it should be. I ought indeed to take order, if the cobbler be indiscreet, that he meddle no more in affairs of mine. But at the same time, I ought to thank him for what he has done. If Gisippus has duly bestowed Thronia in marriage, it is gratuitous folly to find fault with the manner and the person. If you mistrust his judgment, have a care that it be not in his power to do the like again. But thank him for this turn. Natheless, you are to know that I used no cunning practice or deceit too solely in any degree the fair fame of your house in the person of Thronia. And, albeit I took her privately to wife, I came not as a ravisher to dispoil her of her virginity, nor in any hostile sort was I minded to make her mine on dishonourable terms and spurn your alliance. But, being fervently enamoured of her bewitching beauty and her noble qualities, I wished well that should I make suit for her with those formalities with you, perchance, we'll say were due. Then, for the great love you bear her, and for fair lest I should take her away with me to Rome, I might not hope to have her. Accordingly, I made use of the secret practice, which is now manifest to you, and brought Gisippus to consent in my interest to that where too he was averse, and thereafter ardently do I loved her. I sought not to commingle with her as a lover, but as a husband, nor closed with her, until, as she herself, by her true witness may assure you, I had, but apt words, and with the ring, made her my lawful wife, asking her if she would have me to husband, where too she entered yes, where in, if she seems to have been tricked, it is not I that I am to blame, but she, for that she asked me not who I was. This, then, is the great wrong, sin, crime, whereof for love and friendship's sake Gisippus and I are guilty, that Sophronia is privately become the wife of Titus Quintius, tis for this, that you harass him with your menaces, and hostile machinations. What more would you do, had he given her to a villain, to a cative, to a slave? Where would you find fetters, dungeons, crosses adequate to your vengeance? But enough of this at present. An event, which I did not expect, has now happened. My father is dead, and I must need's return to Rome, wherefore, being fain to take Sophronia with me, I have discovered to you, that which otherwise I had, pertents, still kept close. Where too, if you are wise, you will gladly reconcile yourselves, for that, if I had been minded to play you false, or put an affront upon you, I might have scornfully abandoned her to you. But God forefends, that such baseness be ever harboured in a Roman breast. Sophronia, then, by the will of the God, by force of law, and by my own loft-hot astuteness, is mine. The which it would seem that you, deeming yourselves, for adventure, wiser than the gods, or the rest of mankind, do foolishly set at naught, and that in two ways, like, most offensive to me, inasmuch as you both withhold from me Sophronia, in whom right, as against me, you have none, and also entreat as your enemy Gisippus, to whom you are rightfully bunden. The folly were of, I purpose, not at present, folly to expound to you, but in friendly sort to counsel you, to abate your wrath, and abandon all your schemes of vengeance, and restore Sophronia to me, that I may part from you on terms of amity and alliance, and so abide. But of this, rest assured, that whether this, which is done, like you or not, if you are minded to contraven it, I shall take Gisippus hence with me, and once arrived in Rome, shall, in your despite, find means to recover her who is lawfully mine, and pursuing you with unremitting enmity, will apprise you by experience of the full measure and effect of a Roman's wrath. Having so said, Titus started to his feet, his countenance distorted by anger, and took Gisippus by the hand, and was manifest contempt for all the rest, shaking his head at them, and threatening them, led him out of the temple. They that remained in the temple, being partly persuaded by his arguments to accept his alliance and friendship, partly terrified by his last words, resolved by common consent, that it was better to have the alliance with Titus, as they had lost that of Gisippus, than to add to that loss the enmity of Titus, wherefore they followed Titus, and having come up with him, told him that they were well pleased that Sophronia should be his, and that they should prize his alliance and the friendship of their Gisippus, and having ratified this treaty of enmity and alliance with mutual cheer, they departed and sent Sophronia to Titus. Sophronia, discreetly making a virtue of necessity, transferred forthwith to Titus the love she had borne in Gisippus, and being come with Titus to Rome, was there received with no small honor. Gisippus tarried in assence, held in little account by well nigh all the citizens, and being involved in certain of their broils, was not long afterwards, with all his household banished the city, poor, nay destitute, and condemned to perpetual exile. Thus hearts bested, and at length reduced to mendiency, he made his way. So, as least discontentably he might, to Rome, being minded to see where the Titus would remember him. And there, learning that Titus lived, and was much affected by all the Romans, and having found out his house, he took his stand in front of it, and watched until Titus came by, to whom, for shame of the sorry trim that he was in, he ventured no word, but did his endeavour that he might be seen of him, hoping that Titus might recognize him, and call him by his name. But Titus passing on, Gisippus deemed that he had seen, and avoided him, and calling to mind that which a foretime he had done for him, went away wroth and desperate, and fasting, and penniless, and for it was now night, knowing not whether he went, and yearning above all for death, he wandered by chance to a spot which, albeit to us within the city, had much the aspect of a wilderness, and aspiring a spacious grotto, he took shelter in there for the night, and worn out at last with grief, on the bare ground, wretchedly clad as he was, he fell asleep. Now, two men that had that night gone out as heaving, having committed the theft, came towards mourning to the grotto, and there quarrelled, and the stronger slew the other, and took himself off. Aroused by the noise, Gisippus witnessed the murder, and deeming that he had now the means of compassing, without suicide, the death for which he so much longed, but not a jot, but stayed there, until the surgeons of the court, which had already got wind of the affair, came on the scene, and laid violent hands upon him, and led him away. Being examined, he confessed that he had slain the man, and had then been unable to make his escape from the grotto, wherefore the praetor, Marcus Vauro by name, sentenced him to death by crucifixion, as was then the custom. But Titus, who happened at that moment to come into the praetorium, being told the crime for which he was condemned, and scanning the poor wretched face, presently recognized him for Gisippus, and marveled how he should come to be there, and in such a woeful plight, and most ardently desiring to succor him, not seeing other way to save his life, except to exonerate him by accusing himself, he straightway stepped forward, and said with a loud voice, Marcus Vauro, call back the poor man on whom thou hast passed sentence, for he is innocent. Tis enough that I have incurred the wrath of the gods by one deed of violence, to which the murder of whom your surgeons found dead this morning, without aggravating my offense by the death of another innocent man. Perplexed and vexed that he should have been heard by all in the praetorium, but unable, honorably, to avoid compliance with that which laws enjoined, Vauro had Gisippus brought back, and in presence of Titus said to him, How came is thou to be so mad, as though no constrain was put upon thee, to confess a deed thou never didst, thou life being at stake, thou saidst that was thou by whom the man was slain last night, and now comes this odor, and says that was not thou but he that slew him. Gisippus looked, seeing Titus, with twelve that, being grateful for the service rendered by him in the past, Titus was now minded to save his life at the cost of his own, wherefore, affected to tears, he said, Nay, but Vauro, in very sooth I slew him, and, this now too late, this tender solicitude of Titus for my deliverance. But on his part, praetor, Coth Titus, thou seeest this man is a stranger, and was found unarmed beside the murdered man, thou canst not doubt that he was faint of death for very wretchedness, wherefore discharge him, and let punishment light on me who have merited it. Marvelling at the opportunity of both, Vauro readily surmised that neither was guilty, and while he was casting about how he might acquit them, lo, in came a young man, one publius ambustus, a desperate character, and known to all the Romans for an errands-sief. He, it was, that had verily committed the murder, and witting both the men to be innocent of that of which each accused himself, so sore at heart was he by reason of their innocence, that, overborn by an exceeding great compassion, he presented himself before Vauro, and, praetor, Coth he, his destiny draws me hither to lose the knot of these men's contention, and some God within me leaves me no pace of his whips and stings, until I discover my offence wherefore know that neither of these men is guilty of that which each accuses himself. It is verily I that slew the man this morning about daybreak, and before I slew him, while I was sharing our plunder with him, I aspired this poor fellow asleep there. Not need I say to clear titers. The general brute of his illustrious renown attests that he is not a man of such a sort. Discharge him, therefore, and extract from me the penalty prescribed by the laws. The affair had, by this time, come to the ears of Octavianus, who caused all three to be brought before him, and demanded to know the causes by which they had been severally moved to accuse themselves, and, each having told his story, Octavianus released the two by reason of their innocence, and the third for love of them. Titus took Gisippus home, having first chidden him, not a little for his faint heartiness and diffidence, and there Sophroni receiving him as a brother, said him marvellous cheer, and having comforted him a while, and arrayed him in a parole perfecting his words and verse, he first shared with him all his substance, and then gave him his sister, a young damsel named Fulvia, to wife, and said to him, choose now Gisippus, whether thou wilt tarry here with me, or go back to Achaia with all that I have given thee. Gisippus, with his Sophronia, in the same house, growing, if possible, greater friends, day by day, exceeding sacred than his friendship, and worthy not only to be heard in veneration, but to be extolled with never-ending praise, as the most dutiful mother of magnificence and seamliness, sister of gratitude and charity, and foe to enmity and avarice, ever without waiting to be asked, ready to do as generously by another as she would be done by herself. Really indeed is it today that Twain are found, in whom her most holy fruits are manifest, for which is most shamefully answerable the covetousness of mine kind, which, regarding only private interest, has banished friendship beyond earth's farthest borne, dare to abide in perpetual exile. How should love, or wealth, or kinship, how should ought but friendship have so quickened the soul of Gisippus, that the tears and sighs of Titus should incline his heart to see to him the fair and gracious lady that was his betrothed and his beloved? Laws, menaces, terror, how should these, how should ought but friendship have withheld Gisippus in lonely places, in hidden retreats, in his own bed, from unfolding, not pretence unsolicited by her? The fair damsel, within his youthful embers, honors, rewards, gains, what Gisippus, for these, would he, for ought but friendship, have made nothing of the loss of kindred, his own anzophronias, have made nothing of the injurious murmurs of the populace, have made nothing of mocks and scorns, so only he might content his friend? And on the other hand, for what other cause than friendship had Titus, when he might decently have feigned not to see, have striven with the utmost zeal to compass his own death and set himself upon the cross in Gisippus' stead? Chi avrebe, Tito senza alcuna dilazione, fatto liberalissimo a comunicare il suo ampissimo patrimonio, con Gisippo, al quale la fortuna il suo aveva tolto, se non coste i? And what but friendship had left no place for suspicion in the soul of Titus, and filled it with a most fervent desire to give his sister to Gisippus, albeit he saw him to be reduced to extreme penury and destitution? But so it is that men covet hosts of acquaintance, troops of kinsfolk, osprings in plenty, and the number of their dependents increases with their wealth, and they reflect not that there is none of these, be he who he may, but will be more prehensive of the least peril threatening himself than combered to avert a great peril from his lord or kinsman, whereas between friends we note is quite contrary wise. And of Day 10, The Eighth Story, read by J. C. Guan, January 2009. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Eugene Smith. A Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio, translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 10, The Ninth Story. Saladin, in guise of a merchant, is honorably entreated by Messertorello. The crusade ensuing, Messertorello, appoints a date after which his wife may marry again. He is taken prisoner when by training hawks comes under the soldon's notice. The soldon recognizes him, makes himself known to him, and entreats him with all honor. Messertorello falls sick, and by magic arts is transported in a single night to Pavia, where his wife's second marriage is then to be solemnized, and being present there at is recognized by her and returns with her to his house. So ended Filomena her story, and when all alike had commanded the magnificent shown by Titus in his gratitude, the king, reserving the last place for Dioneo, thus began. Lovesome, my ladies, true beyond all question, is what Filomena reports of friendship, and with justice did she deplore in her closing words the little account in which Titus held today among mortals, and were we here for the purpose of correcting, or even of censoring, the vices of the age, I should add a copious sequel to her discourse. But as we have another end in view, it has occurred to me to set before you an narrative which will be of considerable length, but entertaining throughout, an instance of Saladin's magnificence. To the end that, albeit by reason of our vices, it may not be possible for us to gain to the full the friendship of any, yet by the matters whereof you shall hear in my story, we may at least be incited to take delight in doing good offices, in the hope that sooner or later we may come by our reward thereof. I say then that in the time of the Emperor Frederick I, as certain writers affirm, the Christians made common empress for the recovery of the Holy Land. Whereof that most valiant prince, Saladin, then sold on of Babylonia, being in good time apprised, resolved to see for himself the preparations made by the Christian potentates for the said empress, that he might put himself in better trim to meet them. So, having ordered all things to his mind in Egypt, he made as if he were bound on a pilgrimage, and attended only by two of his chiefest and sagest lords, and three servants, took the road in the guise of a merchant. And having surveyed many provinces of Christendom, as they rode through Lombardy with intent to cross the Alps, they chanced, between Milan and Pavia, to fall in with a gentleman, one Messertorello di Strea di Pavia, who with his servants and his dogs and falcons, was be taking him to a fine estate that he had on the Ticino, there to tarry a while. Now Messertorello no sooner espied Saladin and his lords, than he guessed them to be gentlemen and foreigners, and being zealous to do them honour, when Saladin asked one of his servants how far off Pavia might still be, and if he might win there in time to enter the town, he suffered not the servant to make answer, but no gentleman, quote thee, by the time you reach Pavia it will be too late for you to enter. So replied Saladin, then might you be pleased to direct us, as we are strangers, where we may best be lodged? That gladly will I return Messertorello. I was but thinking to send one of these my men on an errand to Pavia, I will send him with you, and he will guide you to a place where you will find very comfortable quarters. Then, turning to one of his most trusted servants, he gave him his instructions and dispatched him with them. After which he repaired to his estate, and forthwith, as best he might, caused a goodly supper to be made ready, and the table set in his garden. Which done, he stationed himself at the gate on the lookout for his guests. The servant, conversing with the gentlemen of diverse matters, brought them by devious roads to his lord's estate without their being aware of it. Whom as soon as Messertorello aspired, he came forth a foot to meet them and said with a smile, a hearty welcome to you gentlemen. Now Saladin, being very quick of apprehension, perceived that the night had doubted what he met them that were he to bid them to his house, they might not accept his hospitality, and accordingly that it might not be in their power to decline it, had brought them to his house by a ruse. And so, returning his greeting, Sir, quote he, were it neat to find fault with those that show courtesy, we should have a grievance against you. For that, to say not of somewhat delaying our journey, you have in girdon of a single greeting constrained us to accept so noble a courtesy as yours. Where to the night, who was of good understanding and well spoken, made answer. Gentlemen, such courtesy as we show you will, in comparison of that which, by what I gather from your aspect, were meet for you, proved but a sorry thing. But ensued this side of Pavia you might not anywhere have been well lodged, wherefore take it not amiss that you have come somewhat out of your way to find less discomfortable quarters. And as he spoke, about them flocked the servants, who, having helped them to dismount, saw to their horses, whereupon Messer Torrello conducted them to the chambers that were made ready for them, where, having caused them to be relieved of their boots and refreshed with the coolest of wines, he held pleasant converse with them until supper time. Saladin and his lords and servants all knew Latin, so that they both understood and made themselves understood very well. And there was none of them but a judge this night to be the most agreeable and debonair man, and there with all the best talker, that he had ever seen. While to Messer Torrello, on the other hand, he showed as far a greater magnificose than he had at first supposed, whereby he was inly vexed, that he had not been able that evening to do them the honors of company and a more ceremonious banquet. For which default, he resolved to make amends on the ensuing morning. Wherefore, having imparted to one of his servants that which he would have done, he sent him to his most judicious and high-minded lady at Pavia, which was close by, and where never a gate was locked. Which done, he brought the gentleman into the garden and courteously asked them who they were. We are separate merchants, replied Saladin, and tis from Cyprus we come, and we are on our way to Paris on business. Quote then, Messer Torrello, Would to God that our country-bred gentlemen of such quality as are the merchants that I see Cyprus breeds, from which they pass to discourse of other matters, until supper time being come, he besought them to seat them at table. Whereat, considering that the supper was but improvised, their entertainment was excellent and well-ordered. The tables being cleared, Messer Torrello, surmising that they must be weary, kept them no long time from their rest, but bestowed them in the most comfortable beds, and soon after went to rest himself. Meanwhile, the servant that he had sent to Pavia did his Lord's errand to the lady, who, in the style rather of a queen than of a housewife, forthwith assembled not a few of Messer Torrello's friends and vassals, and caused all meat preparation to be made for a magnificent banquet, and by messengers bearing torches, bade not a few of the noblest of the citizens there too, and had store of silken and other fabrics, and there brought in all set in order in every point as her husband had directed. Day came, and the gentlemen being risen, Messer Torrello got him to a horse with them, and having sent for his hawks, brought them to a ford, and showed them how the hawks flew. By and by, Saladin requesting of him a guide to the best inn at Pavia, I myself will be your guide, returned Messer Torrello, for I have occasion to go thither, which offer they, nothing doubting, did gladly accept, and so with him they set forth, and about tears being come to the city, and expecting to be directed to the best inn, they were brought by Messer Torrello to his own house, where they were forthwith surrounded by full fifty of the greatest folk of the city, gathered there to give the gentlemen a welcome, and was who should hold a bridle or a stirrup while they dismounted. Whereby Saladin and his lords, more than guessing the truth, Messer Torrello quote they, it was not this that we craved of you, honor enough had we from you last night, and far in excess of our desires, wherefore thou mightest very well have left us to go our own road. Where to? Gentlemen replied Messer Torrello, for that which was done yesterday by have to thank fortune rather than you, seeing that fortune surprised you on the road when you must needs repair to my little house. For that which shall be done this morning, I shall be beholden to you, as will also these gentlemen that surround you, with whom, if you deem it courteous to do so, you may refuse to breakfast, if you like. Fairly conquered, Saladin and his lords dismounted, and heartily welcomed by the gentlemen, were conducted to the chambers which had been most sumptuously adorned for their use, and having laid aside their riding-grass, and some refreshment, repaired to the saloon, where all had been made ready with splendor. There, having washed their hands, they sat them down to table, and were regaled with a magnificent repast of many courses, served with all stately and fair ceremony, in so much that, had the emperor himself been there, it would not have been possible to do him more honor. And albeit Saladin and his lords were grandees, and used to exceeding great displays of pomp and state, nevertheless, this showed to them as not a little marvelous, and one of the greatest they had ever seen, having regard to the quality of their host, whom they knew to be but a citizen, and no lord. Breakfast done, the tables cleared, they conversed a while of high matters, and then, as it was very hot, all the gentlemen of Pavia, so it pleased Messertorello, retired for their siesta, while he remained with his three guests, with whom he presently withdrew into a chamber, with her, that there might be not that he held dear, which they had not seen, he called his noble lady. And so the dame, exceeding fair and stately of person, in a raid in rich apparel, with her two little boys, that showed as two angels, on either hand, himself before them, and graciously greeted them. Whereupon they rose, and returned to salutation with reverence, and caused her to sit down among them, and made much of her two little boys. But after some interchange of gracious discourse, Messertorello being withdrawn somewhat apart, she asked them curiously, whence they came, and whither they were bound, and had of them the same answer that Messertorello had received. So, quote the lady with a joyful air, then I see that my woman's wit will be of service to you, wherefore I pray you as a special favor, either to reject, or to despise the little gift that I am about to present to you, but reflecting that, as women have but small minds, so they make but small gifts. Accept it, having regard rather to the good will of the giver, than the magnitude of the gift. Then caused bring forth for each of them two pair of robes, lined the one with silk, the other with ver, no such robes as citizens or merchants, but such as lords used to wear, and three vests of taffeta, besides linen clothes, and take them, quote she, the robes I give you are even such as I have arrayed my lord with all. The other things, considering that you are far and have yet a long way to go, and that merchants love to be neat and trim, may, albeit they are of no great value, be yet acceptable to you. Wondering, the gentleman acknowledged without reserve that there was no point of courtesy wherein Mesertorello was not minded to acquit himself towards them. And noting the lordly fashion of the robes, unsuited to the quality of merchants, they misdoubted that Mesertorello had recognized them. However, both one of them to the lady, gifts great indeed are these, madam, nor such as lightly to accept, were it not that there too we are constrained by your prayers to which we may on no account say no. Were upon Mesertorello being now come back, the lady bid them adieu and took her leave of them, and in like manner did she cause their servants to be supplied to them. The gentleman being much importun there too by Mesertorello consented to tarry the rest of the day with him. And so, having slept, they donned their robes and rode awhile with him about the city. And supper time being come, they feasted magnificently and with a numerous and honorable company. And so in due time they betook them to rest and at daybreak being risen in lieu of their jaded nags three stout and excellent palfries and in like manner fresh and goodly mounts for their servants which Saladin marking turned to his lords and by God quote he never was gentleman more complete and courteous and considerate than this Mesertorello and if the Christian kings are as kingly as he is nightly there is none of them who's on set being sold and the Babylon might well abide to say not of so many as we see making ready to fall upon him. However, knowing that was not permissible to refuse he very courteously thanked Mesertorello and so they got them to horse. Mesertorello with a numerous company escorted them far beyond the gate of the city until low though Saladin was to part for him so greatly did he now affect him yet as he must need speed on him to turn back whereupon albeit it irked him to make leave of them gentlemen quote Mesertorello since such is your pleasure I obey but this I must say to you who you are I know not nor would I know more than you are pleased to impart but whoever you may be you will not make me believe that you are merchants this while and so adieu to whom Saladin had already taken leave of all his company thus made answer Perventure sir we shall one day give you to see somewhat of our merchandise and thereby confirm your belief and so adieu thus parted Saladin and his company from Mesertorello Saladin burning with an exceeding great desire if life should be continued to him and the war which he anticipated should not undo him to show Mesertorello what he received at his hands and conversing not a little with his lords both of Mesertorello himself and of his lady and all that he did and that in any wise concerned him ever more highly commending him however having with much diligence spied out all the west he put to sea and returned with his company to Alexandria and having now all needful information he put himself in a posture of defense Mesertorello his mind full of his late guests returned to Pavia but though he longing pondered who they might be he came never at or anywhere near the truth then with great and general mustering of forces came the time for embarking on the empress and Mesertorello eating not the tearful entreaties of his wife resolved to join and about to take horse he said to his lady whom he most dearly loved wife for honors sake and for the wheel of my soul I go as thou seeest on this empress our substance and our honor I commend to thy care certain I am of my departure but for the thousand accidents that may ensue certitude I have none of my return wherefore I would have me do me this grace shouldst thou lack certain intelligence that I live thou wilt expect me a year and a month and a day from this departure before you marry again where to the lady weeping bitterly made answer Mesertorello I know not how I shall support the distress in which thus departing you leave me but should my life not fail beneath it and ought before thee live and die secure and die the wife of Mesertorello and of his memory whereupon wife returned to Mesertorello well assured I am that so far as in thee shall lie this promise of thine will be kept but thou art young and fair and of a great family and thy virtue is rare and generally known wherefore I make no doubt that should there be any suspicion of my death by many a great gentleman against whose attacks though thou desire it never so thou will not be able to hold out but wilt perforce be feigned to gratify one or other of them for which cause it is that I ask thee to wait just so long and no longer as I have said replied the lady so in so far as I may I shall do and if I must needs do otherwise that of this year be asked I shall render you obedience but I pray God that he bring neither you nor me to such a straight yet a while which said the lady wept and having embraced Mesertorello drew from her finger a ring and gave it to him saying should it be tied that I die before I see you again mind you of me when you look upon it and having been all adieu faired forth on his journey and being arrived with his company at Genoa he embarked on a galley and having departed thence in no long time arrived at Akron and joined the green Christian host wherein thereby and by broke out an exceeding great and mortal sickness during which whether owing to Saladin's strategy or his good fortune he captured of Welnai all the remnant of the Christians that were escaped and quartered them in diverse prisons in many cities of which captives Mesertorello being one was brought to Alexandria and there confined where not being known and fearing to make himself known he under constrate of necessity applied him to the training of Hawks whereas he was a very great master and thereby he fell under who took him out of the prison and made him his falconer the soldon called him by no other name than Christian and neither recognized nor was recognized by him who his whole soul ever in Pavia assayed many a time to escape that he might return thither but still without success wherefore certain Genoese that would come to Alexandria as ambassadors to the soldon for the redemption of some of their townsfolk being about to return he resolved to write to his lady how that he lived and would come back to her as soon as he might and that she should expect his return and having so done he earnestly besought one of the ambassadors whom he knew to see that the letter reached the hands of the abbot of San Pietro in Ciel Doro who was his uncle and while he was talking about Saldana's affairs it befell one day that while he talked with Saldana of his hawks he smiled where by his mouth shaped itself in a fashion of which Saldana had taken particular note while he was at Pavia and so recalling Mesa Torranolo to mind he fixed his gaze upon him and it seemed to him that was indeed Mesa Torranolo quoth he, of what country art thou in the West?" My lord replied, Mr. Torrello, I am a lombard, of a city called Pavia, a poor man, in the humble condition. Which when he heard, Solomon, well nigh resolved of his doubt, said joyfully to himself, God has provided me with the occasion meet to prove to this man what store I set by his courtesy. And without another word, he brought him into a room, where he kept all his wearing apparel, and said, Look, Christian, if among these robes there be any that thou hast ever seen before. So Mr. Torrello examined the robes, and aspired those which his lady had given to Solomon. But deeming that they could not be the same, he replied, My lord, there is no robe here that I recognize, albeit it is true that those robes are such as I once wore myself, in company with three merchants that came to my house, whereupon Solomon could refrain himself no longer, but tenderly embracing him. You, quoth he, are Mr. Torrello d'istria, and I am one of those three merchants to whom your lady gave these robes, and now is the time to warrant you of the quality of my merchandise, as when I parted from you, I told you might come to pass. Which to hear, Mr. Torrello was at once overjoyed and abashed, overjoyed to have entertained so illustrious a guest, and abashed, for that it seemed to him that he had given him but a sorry entertainment. To whom, Mr. Torrello, quoth Saladin, since hither God has sent you to me, you let his no more eye that I am lord here, but you, and so they made great cheer together, and then Saladin caused Mr. Torrello to be royally arrayed, and presented him to all his greatest lords, and having extolled his merit in no stinted measure, bad all, as they hoped for grace from him, honor Mr. Torrello even as himself. And so, from that hour, did they all, but most especially the two lords that had been with Saladin at Mr. Torrello's house. The glory to which Mr. Torrello thus suddenly found himself razed somewhat diverted his mind from the affairs of Lombardy, and the more so for that he entertained no doubt that his letter had reached his uncle's hands. But for that in the camp, or rather army, of the Christians, on the day when they were taken by Saladin, there died and was buried one Mr. Torrello de Dignes, an obscure knight of Provence, whereas Mr. Torrello Distria was known to all host for a right noble gentleman who so heard tell that Mr. Torrello was dead. Suppose that was Mr. Torrello Distria and not Mr. Torrello de Dignes, nor did what happened after to wit the capture availed to un-deceive them. For not a few Italians had carried the report with them, among whom there were some who made bold to say that they had seen Mr. Torrello de Distria's dead body and had been present at its interment. Which rumor, coming to the ears of his lady and his kinsfolk, rate indeed, nay immeasurable was the distress that had occasioned not only to them, but to all that had known him. The mode and measure of his lady's grief, her mourning, her lamentation, tortidious to describe, enough that after some months spent in almost unmitigated tribulation, her sorrow showed signs of abatement, whereupon, suit being made for her hand by some of the greatest men of Lombardy, her brothers and other kinsfolk began to importute her to marry again. Times not a few, and with floods of tears, she refused. But overborn at last, she consented to do as they would have her, upon the understanding that she was to remain unmarried until the term for which she had bound herself to Mr. Torrello was fulfilled. Now the lady's affairs being in this posture at Pavia, it befell that some eight days or so before the time appointed for her marriage, Mr. Torrello one day aspired in Alexandria, one that he had observed go with the Genoese ambassadors aboard the galley that took them to Genoa, wherefore he called them and asked him what sort of a voyage they had had, and when they had reached Genoa. My lord, replied the other, the galley made but a sorry voyage of it, as I learned in Crete, where I remained. For that, while she was nearing Sicily, there arose a terrible gale from the north that drove her onto the shoals of Barbary, and never a soul escaped, and among the rest, my two brothers were lost. Which report believing, and was indeed most true, and calling to mind that in a few days the term that he had asked of his wife would be fulfilled, and surmising that there could be no tidings of him at Pavia, Mr. Torrello made no question but that the lady was provided with another husband, whereby he sank into such a depth of woe that he lost all power to eat, and betook him to his bed and resigned himself to die. Which when Saladin, by whom he was most dearly beloved, learned, he came to him, and having plied him with many and most instant entreaties, learned at length the cause of his distress and sickness. And having chidden him not a little, that he had not suitor apprised him thereof, he besought him to put on a cheerful courage, assuring him that if so he did, he would bring it to pass, that he should be in Pavia at the time appointed, and told him how. Believing Saladin's word, the more readily that he had many times heard that was possible, and had not seldom been done, Mr. Torrello recovered heart, and was instant with Saladin that he should make all haste. Accordingly, Saladin, bad one of his necromancers, of whose skill he had already had proof, to devise a method whereby Mr. Torrello should be transported to a bed in a single night to Pavia. Necromancer made answer that it should be done, but that to her best he put Mr. Torrello to sleep. The matter being thus arranged, Saladin hide him back to Mr. Torrello, and finding him most earnestly desirous to be in Pavia at the time appointed, if so it might be, and if not, to die. Mr. Torrello, quote he, if you dearly love your lady and miss it out that she may become the bride of another, no eyes, God, what do I censure you, for that of all the ladies that ever I saw, she, for bearing, manners, and address, to say not of beauty, which is but the flower that perishes, seems to me the most worthy to be lauded and cherished. Much had I been ratified, since fortune has set you hither to me, that while you and I yet live, we had exercised equal lordship in the governance of this my realm. And if such was not God's will, and this must needs come upon you, that you are feign either to be at Pavia at the time appointed or to die, I had desired of all things to have been apprised thereof at such a time that I might have sent you home with such honorable circumstance, and state and escort as befit your high desert, which not being vows save me, and as not will content you but to be there forthwith, I do what I can, and speed you thither on such wise as I have told you. My lord, replied Mr. Torello, had you said not, you have already done enough to prove your good will towards me, in that in so high a degree as is quite beyond my deserts, and most assured of the truth of what you say, shall I live or die, and so had done, had you not said it. But seeing that my resolve is taken, I pray you that which you promise to do be done speedily, for that after tomorrow I may no longer count on being expected. Saladin assured him that Torello ordered that he should not be disappointed, and on the morrow, it being his purpose to speed him on his journey that same night, he caused to be set up in one of his great halls, a most goodly and sumptuous med, composed of mattresses, all, as was their want, a velvet and cloth of gold, and had it covered with a quilt, adorned at several intervals with enormous pearls and most rare precious stones. In so much, it was, in after time, accounted a priceless treasure, and furnished with two pillows to match it. Which done, he bade a ray, Mr. Torello, who was now quite recovered, in a robe after the Saracenic fashion, the richest and goodliest thing of the kind that was ever seen, and wrap about his head, according to their want, one of their huge turbans. Then, at a late hour, Saladin, attended by certain of his lords, entered the chamber where Mr. Torello was, and seating himself beside him, all but wept as thus he began. Mr. Torello, the time is nigh at hand when you and I must part. Wherefore, since I may need to give you my own, or others' company, the journey that you are about to make, not permitting it, I am come here, as disfitting, in this chamber, to take my leave of you. Wherefore, before I bid you adieu, I entreat you by that friendship, that love, which is between us, that you forget me not, and that, if it be possible, when you have settled your affairs in Lombardy, you come at least once, before our days are ended, to visit me, that thereby I may both have the delight of seeing you again, and make good that a mission which, by reason of your haste, I must needs now make, and that in the meantime, it irkly not to visit me by letter, and to ask of me whatever you shall have in mind to, and be sure that there lives not the man whom I shall content more gladly than you. Nessetorello could not refrain his tears, and so, with words few and broken by his sobs, he answered that, it was impossible that the sold-ons, generous deeds and chivalrous character, should ever be forgotten by him, and without fail, he would do as he had him, so soon as occasion should serve him, whereupon Saladin tenderly embraced and kissed him, and with many a tear, bad him adieu, and quitted the chamber. His lords then took leave of Nessetorello, and followed Saladin into the hall, where he had had the bed made ready. It was now late, and the necromancer being intent to hasten Nessetorello's transit, a physician brought him a potion, and having first shown him what he was to give him by way of viaticum, caused him to drink it, and not long after he fell asleep, in which state he was carried by Saladin's command, and laid on the goodly bed, whereon he set a large and fair and most sumptuous crown, marking it in such sort that there could be no mistake that it was sent by Saladin to Nessetorello's wife. He next placed on Nessetorello's finger a ring, in which was set a carbuncle of such brilliance that it showed as a lighted torch, and a well-nigh an estimable value, after which he girded on him a sword, the appointments of which might not readily be appraised. And there with all, he adorned him in front with a pendant, wherein were pearls, like the which had never been seen, and not a few other rare jewels. And moreover, on either side of him, he set two vast basins of gold full of pistoles, and strings of pearls, not a few, and rings and girdles, and other things, which were tedious to enumerate, he disposed around him. Which done, he kissed Nessetorello again, and bade the necromancer speed him on his journey. Whereupon, forthwith, the bed with Nessetorello thereon was borne away from before Saladin's eyes, and he and his barons remained conversing thereof. The bed, as Nessetorello had requested, had already been deposited in the Church of San Piero in Ciel d'Oro at Tavia, and Nessetorello, with all the aforesaid jewels and ornaments upon and about him, was lying thereon, and still slept. When, upon the stroke of matins, the Sacristan came into the Church, lightened hand, and presently setting eyes on the sumptuous bed, was not only amazed, but mightily terrified, in so much that he turned back and took flight. Which the abbot and monks, observing with no small surprise, asked wherefore he fled, and he told them. Whereupon? Oh, quote the abbot, now art no longer a child, nor yet so new to this Church that thou shouldst so lightly be appalled. Go, we now, and see who it is that has given me this childish fright. So, with a blaze of torches, the abbot, attended by his monks, entered the Church and aspired this wondrous, costly bed whereon the night slept. And, while hesitant and fearful, daring not to approach the bed, they scanned the rare and splendid jewels, it befell that, the efficacy of the potion being exhausted, Mesertorello awoke, and heaved a great sigh. Where at the monks and the abbot, quaking and crying out, Lord, help us! One and all took to flight. Mesertorello, opening his eyes and looking about him, saw, to his no small satisfaction, that without a doubt, he was in the very place where he had craved of Saladin to be. So, up he sat, and taking particular note of the matters with which he was surrounded, accounted the magnificence of Saladin to exceed even the measure, right though it was, that he already knew. However, he still kept quiet, say that, perceiving the monks in flight and surmising the reason, he began to call the abbot by name, bidding him be of good courage, for that he was his nephew, Torrello. Where at the abbot did but wax more terrified, for that he deemed Torrello had been many a month dead. But after a while, as he heard himself still called, sound judgment got the better of his fears, and making the sight of the cross, he drew nigh Torrello, who said to him, Father, what is it to fear? By God's grace, I live, and hither have come back from overseas. Whom, for all he had grown a long beard and was dressed in the Saracenic fashion, the abbot after a while recognized, and now, quite reassured, took by the head, saying, Son, welcome home. Then, no cause hast thou to marvel at our fears, he went on, seeing that there is never a soul in these parts, but firmly believes that you be dead, in so much that I may tell thee that Madonna of Valletta, by wife, overborn by the entreaties and menaces of her kinsfolk, and against her will, is provided with another husband, to whom she is this morning to go, and all is made ready for the nuptials and the attendant festivities. Whereupon, Messer Torrello, being risen from the sumptuous bed, did the abbot and the monks wondrous cheer and besought them, one and all, to tell never a soul of his return, until he had completed something that he had on hand. After which, having put the costly jewels and safekeeping, he recounted to the abbot all the story of his adventures to that very hour. The abbot, rejoicing at his good fortune, joined with him in offering thanks to God. Messer Torrello then asked him, who might be his wife's new husband? And the abbot told him, Quote then, Messer Torrello. Before my return be known, I purposed to see how my wife will comport herself with the nuptials. Wherefore, though it is not the want of men of religion to go to such gatherings, I had leaf that for love of me, you arrange for us to go thither together. The abbot answered that he would gladly do so, and as soon as was day, he sent word to the bridegroom that he had thoughts of being present at his nuptials, accompanied by a friend. Where too, the gentleman made answer that he was much gratifying. So, at the breakfast hour, Messer Torrello, dressed as he was, hide him with the abbot to the bridegroom's house, as many as saw them gazing on him with wonder, but none recognizing him, and the abbot giving all to understand that he was a Saracen sent by the sold on as ambassador to the king of France. Messer Torrello was accordingly seated at a table directly opposite that of his lady, whom he eyed with his seating great delight, the more so that he saw that in her face which showed him that she was chagrined by the nuptials. She, in like manner from time to time, bent her regard on him. Albeit, what with his long beard and his foreign garb and her firm persuasion that he was dead, she had still no sort of recollection of him. However, Messer Torrello at length deemed it time to make trial of her whether she would remember him. Wherefore, he took the ring that the lady had given him on his departure and keeping it close in the palm of his hand, he called to him a page that waited upon her and said to him, tell the bride from me that is the custom in my country that when a stranger, such as I, eats with a bride like herself at her wedding feast, she, in token that he is welcome to her board, sends him the cup from which she herself drinks full of wine. And when the stranger has drunk his fill, he closes the cup and the bride drinks what is left therein. The page carried the message to the lady, who, being of good understanding and matters, and supposing him to be some very great man, by way of showing that she was gratified by his presence, commanded that a gilt cup that was on the table before her should be rinsed and filled with wine and borne to the gentleman. Which being done, Messer Torrello, having privily conveyed her ring into his mouth, let it fall while he drank into the cup on such wise that none whisked thereof. And leaving but a little wine at the bottom, closed the cup and returned it to the lady, who, having taken it, that she might do full honor to the custom of her guest's country, lifted the lid and set the cup to her mouth. Whereby, aspiring the ring, she thereon mutely gazed awhile and recognizing it for that which she had given Messer Torrello on his departure, she steadfastly regarded the supposed stranger, who now she also recognized. Whereupon, well-nigh distracted, oversetting the table in front of her, she exclaimed, "'Tis my lord, "'tis verily Messer Torrello!" And rushing to the table at which she sat, giving never a thought to wear a peril or aught that was on the table, she flung herself upon it. And reaching forward as far as she could, she threw her arms about him and hugged him. Nor for aught that any said or did could she be induced to release his neck until Messer Torrello himself bad her for bare awhile, for that she would have time enough to kiss him thereafter. The lady then stood up and for awhile all was disordered, albeit the feast was yet more gladsome than before by reason of the recovery of so honorable a night. Then at Messer Torrello's entreaty all were silent, while he recounted to them the story of his adventures from the day of his departure to that hour, concluding by saying that the gentleman who, deeming him to be dead, had taken his lady to wife, ought not to be affronted if he, being alive, reclaimed her. The bride room, albeit he was somewhat crestfallen, made answer in frank and friendly sort that it was for Messer Torrello to do what he liked with his own. The lady resigned the ring and the crown that her new spouse had given her and put on the ring she had taken from the cup and likewise the crown sent her by the sold on. And so forth they hide them and with full nuptial pomp winded their way to Messer Torrello's house and therefore a great while they made merry in his late disconsolate friends and kinfolk and all the citizens who accounted his restoration as little short of a miracle. Messer Torrello having bestowed part of his rare jewels upon him who had borne the cost of the wedding feast and part on the Abbott and many other folk and having by more than one messenger sent word of his safe homecoming and prosperous estate to Saladin, acknowledging himself ever his friend and vassal, lived many years thereafter with his worthy lady acquitting himself yet more courteously than of your. Such then was the end of the troubles of Messer Torrello and his dear lady and such the reward of their cheerful and ready courtesies. Now some there are that strive to do offices of courtesy and have the means, but do them with so ill a grace that ere they are done, they have in effect sold them at a price above their worth. Wherefore, if no reward ensue to them thereof, neither they nor other folk have caused to marble. End of Day 10, the ninth story. Day 10. The Tenth Story of the Decameron. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For further information or to volunteer, please go to LibriVox.org. Reading by Andy Minter. The Decameron. By Giovanni Boccaccio. Translated by J. M. Rigg. Day 10. The Tenth Story. The Marquis of Saluzzo, overborn by the entreaters of his vassals, consents to take a wife. But being minded to please himself in the choice of her, takes a husband's man's daughter. He has two children by her, both of whom he makes her believe that he has put to death. Afterward, feigning to be tired of her and to have taken another wife, he turns her out of doors in her shift. And brings his daughter into the house in guise of his bride. But, finding her patient under it all, he brings her home again, and shows her her children now grown up, and honours her, and causes her to be honoured as Marcianese. Ended the King's Long Story, with which all seemed to be very well pleased, caused the ordeal with a laugh. The good man that looked that night to cause the boogie stale to droop, his curve have contributed too many words of all the praise you bestow on Messer Torello. Then, waiting that it now only remained for him to tell, thus he began. Gentlemen, my ladies, this day, me seems, is dedicated to kings and soldands and folk of light quality. Wherefore, that I stray not too far from you, I am minded to tell you somewhat of a marquis, certainly his nought magnificent, but a piece of mad folly, albeit there came good thereof to him in the end, the which I counsel none to copy, for that great pity-toise that it turned out well with him. There was, in olden days, a certain marquis of Saluzzo, Guantieri by name, a young man, but head of the house, who, having neither wife nor child, passed his time in nought else but hawking and hunting, and of taking a wife and begetting children had no thought, wherein he should have been accounted very wise, but his vassals, brooking a deal, did often times entreat him to take a wife, that he might not die without an heir and they be left without a lord, offering to find him one of such a pattern and of such parentage that he might marry with good hope and be well content with the sequel. To whom? My friends," replied Guantieri, you enforce me to that which I had resolved never to do, seeing how hard it is to find a wife whose ways accord well with one's own, and how plentiful is the supply of such as a run counter there too, and how grievous a life he leads who chances upon a lady that matches ill with him, and to say that you think to know the daughters by the qualities of their fathers and mothers, and thereby, so you would argue, to provide me with a wife to my liking is but folly, for I what not, how you may penetrate the secrets of their mothers so as to know their fathers, and granted that you do know them, daughters often times resemble neither of their parents. However, as you are minded to rivet these fetters upon me, I am content that so it be, and that I may have no cause to reproach any but myself should it turn out ill, I am resolved that my wife shall be of my own choosing, but of this rest assured that no matter whom I choose, if she receive not from you the honour due to a lady, you shall prove to your great cost how sorely I resent being thus constrained by your importunity to take a wife against my will. The worthy men replied that they were well content, so only he would marry without more ado, and Gueltieri, who had long noted with approval the men of a poor girl that dwelt on a farm hard by his house and found her fair enough, deemed that with her he might pass a tolerably happy life, wherefore he sought no further, but forthwith resolved to marry her, and having sent for her father, who was a very poor man, he contracted with him to take her to wife, which done, Gueltieri assembled all the friends he had in those parts, and my friends, Gueltieri, you were and are minded that I should take a wife, and rather to comply with your wishes than for any desire that I had to marry, I have made up my mind to do so. You remember the promise you gave me, to it that whomsoever I should take, you would pay her the duty due to a lady, which promise I now require you to keep, the time being come when I am to keep mine. I have found hard by here a maiden after my own heart, whom I propose to take to wife, and to bring hither to my house, in the course of a few days, wherefore bethink you how you may make the nuptial peace splendid, and welcome her with all honour, that I may confess myself satisfied with your observance of your promise, as you will be with my observance of mine. The worthy men, one and all, answered with alacrity that they were well content, and that whoever she might be, they would entreat her as a lady, and pay her all due honour as such. After which they all addressed them to make goodly and grand and gladsome celebration of the event, as did also Gueltieri. He arranged for a wedding most stately and fair, and bad there too a goodly number of his friends and kinsfolk, and great gentlemen, and others of the neighbourhood. And therewithal he caused many a fine and costly robe to be carton, fashioned to the figure of a girl who seemed to him of the like proportions as the girl that he proposed to wed, and laid in store besides of girdles and rings with a costly and beautiful crown, and all the other paraphernalia of a bride. The day that he had appointed for the wedding being come, about half-teeths he got him to horse, with as many as had come to do him honour, and having made all needful dispositions, gentlemen, both he it is time to go bring home the bride, and so away he rode with his company to the village, where, being come to the house of the girl's father, they found her returning from the spring with a bucket of water, making all the haste that she could, so she might afterwards go with the other women to see Gueltieri's bride come by, whom Gueltieri no sooner saw than he called her by her name to it, Griselda, and asked her where her father was, to whom she modestly made answer, my Lord, he is in the house, whereupon Gueltieri dismounted, and having bidden the rest to wait him without, entered the cottage alone, and meeting her father, whose name was Gianuccolo, I am come, both he, to wed Griselda, but first of all there are some matters I would learn from her own lips in thy presence. He then asked her whether, if he took her to wife, she would study to comply with his wishes, and be not wroth, no matter what he might say or do, and be obedient, with not a few other questions of a like sort, to all of which she answered I. Whereupon Gueltieri took her by the hand, led her forth, and before the eyes of all his company, and of as many other focus were there, caused her to strip naked, and let bring the garments that he had fashioned for her, and had her forthwith arrayed therein, and upon her unkempt head let set a crown, and then, while all wondered, gentlemen, Gueltieri, this is she whom I purpose to make my wife, so she be minded to have me for husband. Then she, standing abashed and astonished, he turned to her, saying, Griselda, wilt thou have me for thy husband? To whom I, my lord, answered she, and I will have thee to wife, said he, and married her before them all, and having set her upon a palfry, he brought her home with pomp. The wedding was fair and stately, and had he married a daughter of the king of France, the feast could not have been more splendid. It seemed as if, with the change of her garb, the bride had acquired a new dignity of mind and mien. She was, as we have said, fair of form and feature, and therewithal she was now grown so engaging and gracious and debonair, that she showed no longer as the shepherdess and the daughter of Gianuccolo, but as the daughter of some noble lord, in so much that she caused as many as had known her before to marvel. Moreover she was so obedient and devoted to her husband that he deemed himself the happiest and luckiest man in the world, and likewise so gracious and kindly was she to her husband's vassals, that there was none of them but loved her more dearly than himself, and was zealous to do her honour and prayed for her welfare and prosperity and the grandestment. And instead of, as erstwhile, saying that Gauchieri had done foolishly to take her to wife, now a word that he had not his like in the world for wisdom and discernment, for that save to him her noble qualities would ever have remained hidden under her sorry apparel and the garb of the peasant girl. And in short she so comported herself as in no long time to bring it to pass that not only in the marquiset, but far and wide besides her virtues and her admirable conversation were matter of common talk, and if ought had been said to the disadvantage of her husband when he married her, the judgment was now altogether to the contrary effect. She had not been long with Gauchieri before she conceived, and in a due time she was delivered of a girl whereout Gauchieri made great cheer. But soon after a strange humour took position of him, to it to put her patience to the proof by prolonged and intolerable hard usage. Wherefore he began by afflicting her with his jibes, putting on a vexed air and telling her that his vassals were most solid, dissatisfied with her by reason of her base condition and all the more so since they saw that she was a mother and that they did not but most ruefully murmur at the birth of a daughter. Where to Griselda, without the least change of countenance or sign of discomposure, made answer, my lord, do with me as thou mayst deem best for thine own honour and comfort, for well I what that I am of less account than they, and unworthy of this honourable estate to which of thy courtesy thou hast advanced me. By which answer Gauchieri was well pleased, witting that she was in no degree puffed up with pride by his or any other's honourable entreatment of her. A while afterwards, having in general terms given his wife to understand that the vassals could not endure her daughter, he sent her a message by a servant. So the servant came and, madame, both he with the most dollarous mean, so I value my life I must need to do my lord's bidding. He has bidden me, take your daughter, and he said no more, but the lady by what she heard and read in his face and remembered of her husband's words understood that he was bidden to put the child to death. Upon she presently took the child from the cradle and having kissed and blessed her, albeit she was very sore at heart, she changed not countenance, but placed it in the servant's arms, saying, See that thou leave nought undone that my lord and thine has charged thee to do, but leave her not so that the beasts and the birds devour her, unless he have so biddenly. So the servant took the child and told Gauchieri what the lady had said, and Gauchieri, marvelling at her constancy, sent him with the child to Bologna, to one of his kin's women, whom he besought to rear and educate the child with all care, but never to let it be known whose child she was. Soon after it befell that the lady again conceived, and in due time was delivered of a son, whereout Gauchieri was overjoyed, but not content with what he had done, he now even more poignantly afflicted the lady. And one day, with the ruffled man, Wife, quote he, Since thou gavest birth to this boy I may on no wise live in peace with my vassals, so bitterly do they reproach me that a grandson of Giannucolo is to succeed me as their lord. And therefore I fear that, so I be not minded to be sent to packing hence, I must even do herein as I did before, and in the end put thee away and take another wife. The lady heard him patiently, answered only, My lord, study how thou mayest content thee and best please thyself, and waste no thought upon me, for there is naught I desire, save insofar as I know that tis thy pleasure. Not many days after, Gauchieri, in like manner as he had sent for the daughter, sent for the son, and having made a show of putting him to death, provided for his, as for the girl's, nurture at Bologna. Whereout the lady showed no more discomposure or countenance or speech than at the loss of her daughter, which Gauchieri found passing strange and inly affirmed that there was never another woman in the world that would have so done. And but that he had marked that she was most tenderly affectionate towards her children, whilst as well pleasing to him, he had supposed that she was tired of them, whereas he knew that it was of her discretion that she so did. His vassals, who believed that he had put the children to death, held him mightily to blame for his cruelty, and felt the utmost compassion for the lady. She, however, said never ought to the ladies that condoled with her on the death of her children, but that the pleasure of him that had begotten them was her pleasure likewise. Years not a few had passed since the girl's birth when Gauchieri at length deemed the time come to put his wife's patience to the final proof. Accordingly, in the presence of a great company of his vassals, it is clear that on no wise might he longer brook to have Griselda to wife, that he confessed that in taking her he had done a sorry thing and the act of a stripling, and that he therefore meant to do what he could to procure the pope's dispensation to put Griselda away and take another wife, for which cause, being much upbraided by many worthy men, he made no other answer but only that needs must it so be, whereof the lady being apprised and now deeming that she must look to go back to her father's house and for chance tend the sheep as she had a foretime and to see him, to whom she was utterly devoted, engrossed by another woman, did inly bewail herself right sorely, but still, with the same composed men with which she had borne fortune's former buffets, she set herself to endure this last outrage. Nor was it long before Gauchieri, by counterfeit letters which he caused to be sent to him from Rome, made his vassals believe that the pope had thereby given him a dispensation to put Griselda away and take another wife. Wherefore, having caused her to be brought before him, he said to her, in the presence of not a few, wife, by license granted me by the pope, I am now free to put thee away and take another wife, and for that my forebears have always been great gentlemen and lords of these parts, whereas thine have ever been husbandmen, I purpose that thou go back to Gianucolo's house with the dowry that thou broughtest me, whereupon I shall bring home a lady that I have found, and who is me to be my wife. It was not without travail most grievous that the lady, as she heard this announcement, got the better of her woman's nature, and suppressing her tears made answer, my lord, I ever knew that my low degree was on no wise congruence with your nobility, and acknowledged that the rank I had with you was of your and God's bestowal, nor did I ever make as if it were mined by gift or so esteem it, but still accounted it as alone. It is your pleasure to recall it, and therefore it should be, and is my pleasure to render it up to you. So here is your ring with which you espoused me. Take it back. You bid me take with me the dowry that I brought you, which to-do will require neither paymaster on your part, nor purse nor pack-horse on mine, for I am not unmindful that naked was I when you first had me, and if you deem it seemly that that body in which I have borne children, by you begotten, be beheld of all, naked will I depart. But yet I pray you, be pleased, inward on of the virginity that I brought you, and take not away, to suffer me to bear hence upon my back a single shift, I crave no more, besides my dowry. There was nought of which Quartieri was so faint as to weep, but yet, setting his face as flint, he made answer, I allow thee a shift to thy back, so get thee hence. All that stood by besought him to give her a robe, that she, who had been his wife for thirteen years and more, might not be seen to quit his house in so sorry and shameful a plight, having nought on her but a shift. But there in treaties went for nothing. The lady in her shift, and bare foot, and bare headed, having bade them adieu, departed the house, and went back to her father amid the tears and lamentations of all that saw her. Gianuccolo, who had ever deemed it a thing incredible that Quartieri should keep his daughter to wife, and had looked for this to happen every day, and had kept the clothes that she put off on the morning that Quartieri had wedded her, now brought them to her. And she, having resumed them, applied herself to the petty drudgery of her father's house, as she had been wont, enduring with fortitude this cruel visitation of adverse fortune. Now, no sooner had Quartieri dismissed Griselda than he gave his vassals to understand that he had taken to wife a daughter of one of the Counts of Banargo. He accordingly made great preparation as for the Nyupshaurs, during which he sent for Griselda to whom, being calm, quote he, I am bringing Hither my new bride, and in this her first homecoming I purpose to show her honour, and thou knowest that women I have none in the house that know how to set chambers in due order, or attend to the many other matters that so joyful an event requires. Wherefore, do thou that understandest these things better than another, see to all that needs to be done, and bid Hither such ladies that thou mayest see fit, and receive them, as if thou wert the lady of the house. And then, when the Nyupshaurs are ended, thou mayest go back to thy cottage. Albeit each of these words pierced Griselda's heart like a knife, for that in resigning her good fortune she had not been able to renounce the love she bore while Thierry. Nevertheless, my lord, she made answer, I am ready and prompt to do your pleasure. And so, clad in her sorry garments, of course, romagnoli, she entered the house, which, a little before she had quitted in her shift, and addressed her to sweep the chambers, and arrange arous and cushions in the halls, and make ready the kitchen, and set her hand to everything, as if she had been a poultry-serving wench. Nor did she rest until she had brought all into such meat and seemly trim as the occasion demanded. This done, she invited, in Grotierry's name, all the ladies of those parts to be present at his Nyupshaurs, and awaited the event. Being come, still wearing her sorry weeds, but in heart and soul and me and the lady, she received the ladies as they came, and gave each a gladsome greeting. Now, Grotierry, as we said, had caused his children to be carefully nurtured and brought up by a kinswoman of his at Bologna, which kinswoman was married into the family of the Counts of Panago, and the girl being now twelve years old and the loveliest creature that ever was seen, and the boy being about six years old, he had sent word to his kinswoman's husband at Bologna, praying him to be pleased to come with this girl and boy of his to Salutso, and to see that he brought a goodly and honorable company with him, and to give all to understand that he brought the girl to him to wife, and on no wise to disclose to any who she really was. The gentleman did as the Marcus paid him, and within a few days of his setting forth arrived at Salutso about breakfast time with the girl and her brother and the noble company, and found all the folk of those parts and much people besides, gathered there in expectation of Grotierry's new bride, who, being received by the ladies, was no sooner come into the hall where the tables were set than Griselda advanced to meet her, saying with hearty cheer, welcome, my lady. So the ladies, who had with much instance but in vain, besought Grotierry to let Griselda keep in another room, or at any rate to furnish her with one of the robes that had been hers, that she might not present herself in such a sorry guise before the strangers sat down to table, and the service being begun the eyes of all were set on the girl, and every one said that Grotierry had made a good exchange, and Griselda joined with the rest in greatly commending her and also her little brother. And now Grotierry sated at last with all that he had seen of his wife's patience, marking that this new and strange turn made not the least alteration in her demeanour, and being well assured that it was not due to apathy, for he knew her to be of excellent understanding, deemed it time to relieve her of the suffering which he judged her to disemble under a resolute front, and so, having called her to him in presence of them all, he said with a smile, and what thinkest thou of our bride? My lord, replied Griselda, I think mighty well of her, and if she be but as discreet as she is fair, and so I deem her, I make no doubt but you may reckon to lead with her a life of incomparable felicity. But with all earnestness I didn't treat you, but you spare her those tribulations which you did once inflict upon another that was yours, for I scarce think that she would be able to bear them, as well because she is younger, as for that she has been delicately nurtured, whereas that other had known no respite of hardship since she was but a little child. Marking that she made no doubt but that the girl was to be his wife, and yet spoke never a wit the less sweetly, Valtieri caused her to sit down beside him, and Griselda said he, it is now time that thou see the reward of thy long patience, and that those who have deemed me cruel and unjust and insensate should know that what I did was of purpose a foretort, for that I was minded to give both thee and them a lesson, that thou mightst learn to be a wife, and they, in like manner, might learn how to take and keep a wife, and that I might beget me perpetual peace with thee for the rest of my life, whereof being in great fear when I came to take a wife, lest I should be disappointed, I therefore to put the matter to the prove did, and how sorely thou knowest harass and afflict thee, and never knew thee either by deed or by word to deviate from my will, I now, deeming myself to have of thee that assurance of happiness which I desired, and minded to restore to thee at once all that step by step I took from thee, and by extremity of joy to compensate the tribulations that I inflicted on thee. Receive then this girl, whom thou supposes to be my bride, and her brother, with glad heart, as thy children and mine. These are they, whom by thee and many another it has long been supposed that I did ruthlessly to death, and I and thy husband that loves thee more dearly than ought else, deeming that other there is none that has the like good cause to be well content with his wife, which said he embraced and kissed her, and then while she wept for joy they rose and hide them there where sat the daughter, all astonished to hear the news, whom as also her brother they tenderly embraced and explained to them, and many others that stood by the whole mystery. Whereout the ladies transported with delight, rose from table, and betook them with Griselda to a chamber, and with better omen divested her of her sorry garb, and arrayed her in one of her own robes of state, and so in guise of a lady, albeit in her rag she had showed her no less, they led her back into the hall. Wondrous was the chair, which there they made with the children, and all overjoyed at the event they reveled, and made merry amain and prolonged the festivities for several days, and very discreet they pronounced D'Arthieri, albeit they censured as intolerably harsh the probation to which he had subjected Griselda, and most discreet beyond all compare they accounted Griselda. Some days after the Count of Panago returned to Bologna, and Gualtieri took Gianuccolo from his husbandry, and established him in honour as his father-in-law, wherein to his great solace he lived for the rest of his days. Gualtieri himself, having mated his daughter with a husband of high degree, lived long and happily thereafter with Griselda, to whom he ever paid all honour. Now what shall we say in this case? But that even into the cots of the poor the heavens let fall at times, spirits divine, as into the palaces of kings souls that are fitted to ten hogs than to exercise lordship over men. Who but Griselda had been able with the countenance not only tearless, but cheerful, to endure the hard and unheard-of trials to which Gualtieri subjected her. Who perhaps might have deemed himself to have made no bad investment, and he chanced upon one, who, having been turned out of his house in her shift, and found means so to dust the police of another as to get herself thereby a fine robe. Translated by H. M. Rick. Day the tenth. The conclusion. So ended the O'Neill's story, whereof the ladies, diversely inclining, one to center where another found matter of commendation, had discourse not a little, when the king, having glanced at the sky, unmarked that the sun was now low, and so much that it was neither west per hour, still keeping his seat dust began. Excused my ladies, as may things you would, it is not only in minding them of the past and apprehending the present that the width of mortals consists, but by one means or the other to be able to foresee the future is by the stakes accounted the height of wisdom. Now tomorrow, as you know, it will be fifteen days since in quest of recreation and for the conservation of our health and life, we, shunning the dismal and olorous and afflicting spectacles that have seized not in our city since this season of pestilence began, took our departure from Florence. Whereon to my thinking we have done not that was not seemly, for if I have duly used my powers of observation, albeit some gay stories and of a kind to stimulate concupiscence, have here been told, and we have daily known no lack of dainty dishes and good wine, nor yet of music and song, thanks one and all apt to incite weak minds to that which is not seemly. Neither on your part, nor on ours, have I marked deed or ward or ought of any kind that called for apprehension. But by what I have seen and heard, seamliness and the sweet intimacy of brothers have ever reigned among us, which assuredly for the honor and advantage which you and I have had thereof is most grateful to me. Therefore, last too long continuance in this way of life might we get some occasion of weariness, and that no man may be able to misconstrue our too long obedience here. And as we have all of us had our day share of the honor which still remains in me, I should deem it meet, so you be of like mind that we now go back once we came, and that the rather that our company, the brute were of has already reached diverse others that are in our neighborhood, might be so increased that all our pleasure would be destroyed. And so, if my counsel meet with your approval, I will keep the crown I have received with you until our departure, which I propose shall be tomorrow morning. Should you decide otherwise I have already determined whom to crown for the ensuing day. Much debate ensued among the ladies and young men, but in the end they approved the king's proposal as expedient and seemly, and resolved to do even as he had said. The king's therefore summoned the Senneschal, and having conferred with him to serve on the morrow, he dismissed the company until suppertime. So the king being risen, the ladies and the rest likewise rose, and betook them, as they were wont, to their several diversions. Suppertime being come, they subbed with exceeding great delight, which done they addressed them to song and music in dancing, and while Laurete was leading a dance, the king made Fiametta give them a song, whereupon Fiametta, right depornedly, sang on this wise. So came but love, and brought no jealousy, so blithe I was as I. Dame were the none, be ye she who were she be. If you thresh lusty pride, may lady of her love a well content, or valour's just renown, hardyhood prowess tried, which noble me in discourse most excellent, and of all grace the crown, that she I am who feign, for love to spoon, there where my hope doth lie, these several virtues all conjoined to see, but for that I less wise, than mean a wit to other dames discern, trembling with sword is may, I still the worst surmise, deeming their hearts with the same flame to ban, that of mine may haaketh pray, wherefore of him that is my hopes one stay, disconsolate I sigh, ye mightily and daily do me dre, if but my lord as true, as worthy to be loved I might approve, I were not jealous then, but for that charming you, doth all too often gallant, lew to love, force-worn I hold, all men, and sick at heart I am of death full feign, no lady doth him I, but I do quake lest she he he he, him rest from me, for God then let each she list to my prayer no air in my despite, such grievous wrong assay, for should there any be, that by all speech or means, all humans light, of him to rob me may, study or plot I witting shall find way, my beauty it abye, to cause her soul amend such frenesie. As soon as Fiametak had ended her song, Dioneo, who was beside her, said with a laugh, Madam, it would be a great courtesy in your part to do all ladies to bet, where he is, that he be not stolen from you in ignorance, seeing that you threaten such dire resentment. Several other songs followed, and it being then nigh upon midnight, all as the king was pleased to order, but took them to rest. With the first light of the new day there rose, and the seneschal having already conveyed thence all their chattels, they following the lead of their discreet king, hid them back to the Florence, and in Santa Maria Novella, when they had set forth, the three young men took leave of the seven ladies, and departed to find other diversions elsewhere, while the ladies in due time were prepared to their homes.